


My Star to Wish Upon

by orphan_account



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Abandonment, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Loneliness, Pining Evie, Pining Uma, Racism Symbolism, Uma's struggling, having a hard time with these tags, i think, uma-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 16:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20449922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "My mom used to say there was a woman in the stars looking over us. Said that, shitty as things were, there was no way the Isle survived without some kind of higher power.""You really think that? That someone's looking out for us?""I sure hope so. Cause I sure could use some starpower right about now.". . .Adjusting to Auradon life isn't nearly as simple as Uma figured it'd be.





	My Star to Wish Upon

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this isn't my usual fandom, but I've been sitting on this since D3 was released, and I need this out of my drafts. I've been in an awkward place with my writing, and, to get over that, I'm trying to just finish and post a bunch of stuff I've been hoarding. Hope you enjoy it!

She was six years old when Hades worked some not-magic with some friends in Auradon and smuggled Electricity back to the Isle. She remembers this specifically cause it was the day after Miss FrogsBreath set a hive of bees after her for doodling in her notebook. She came home that day, crying and covered in stings, and sat between her mother's legs as she applied balms to her throbbing skin.

Midway through the treatment and consequential scolding, Uma's mother got a call on the house phone, releasing a squeal that aggravated the jellyfish pulsing through the house. Uma just whined and clicked at them, watching as her mother and Ms. de Vil stormed the living room and flicked on the TV that'd been broken longer than she'd been alive.

Only, when they went to press the button, the screen filled with blue light.

There wasn't anything special on. Just an Economics and Mystics report from the royal family. Her mother and Ms. de Vil sneered and turned their noses up at them, hurling insults and desires to unleash an unyielding hell upon them, but even at a young age, Uma could tell the hatred was an act, a cloak for the sheer gratefulness of having electricity again, of having some sort of connection to the outside world again.

That was thirteen years ago, and things have changed. Uma's scars have healed, and relations between Auradon and the Isle of the Lost have never been better.

That is, of course, unless you listen to gossip, in which case, things are no better off than when Auradon and the Isle first split.

("Why exactly is there a petition for a renaming? I think it fits, considering the likes of those who live there." "Well, it wouldn't technically be renaming, now would it? Considering that wasn’t the original name in the first place?")

_ We weren’t always lost _ , Uma often finds herself thinking, but it’s a layered sentiment, so she seldom ever voices it aloud.

She tries not to be picky, tries to be amicable in a kingdom where anything that even slightly resembles malthought warrants intervention. But it's hard. Because as easy as it was for the Scooby Gang to convert, well, they can't all afford to be so lucky.

Those native to Auradon, they don't get it. Then again, they generally don't get why the Islers are here in the first place. They don't trust them, especially not the VKs because they're younger than their parents, full of more ideas and more spite and more opportunity their parents ever were.

Uma hears the whispers, thanks, in part, to the swarms of Isle fish she's introduced to the kingdom; she knows how people feel about her people. Moreso, how they feel about her.

That had taken a bit of convincing, on both Mal and Ben's part. You don't get a full pardon and an official offer to drink the fruit punch via joining the Royal Academy without having friends in high places.

If you could call Mal and Ben her friends anyway. Mal? They've too much history to be strangers, and they're not exactly enemies anymore. And Ben, despite his efforts, doesn't know what the fuck to do with someone like her, someone who wants the opportunity but would rather isolate herself than actually partake in "kingdomy practices".

Some days, she thinks he pities her. Others, she thinks he's fascinated, like those people that keep ant farms to get a glimpse into the life of an insect. Whatever it is, it bugs the hell out of her, so she tries to avoid him when she can. Those puppy dog eyes very well may work on everyone, but she isn't gonna give him the chance to get under her skin.

The chauldron beside her bubbles, a rancid Blobfish by the name of Jason emerging from its depths. "You're grumpy today", he notes insightfully.

Uma, from where she's sat, sank on the couch and legs spread, just glares, eyes darting across the screen of her laptop as she skims her homework schedule for the week. "I’m thinking of investing in a grill", she murmurs, silently wondering if her decision to enroll in online school was a good one. "Fish just doesn't taste the same in the microwave."

"Yeah and it stinks the place up something awful." He swims to the edge of the cauldron, placing his tiny little fins against the rim as he considers her. "You know, when you told me we were 'relocating' to the Land of Opportunity and Cinnamon Sticks, I thought we'd go seeing the sights, sampling the cuisines, dancing with the ladies. Not doing the exact same shit we did back home."

"Can it, fish lips", Uma growls, slamming her laptop shut and leaving in pursuit of her Mathematics textbook. "And what’d you expect me to do? I aint dragging you around in a fucking fishbowl."

"I take it back", Jason continues smugly as he pushes himself back and begins to revolve about the water. "You're actually worse. Least back home you actually made something of yourself. Now you live in a fuvking cottage off a lagoon, of all places. And when you do leave you only go to the market." He sighs, and Uma peels open her textbook, pretending she’ss only mildly paying attention. "If I wasn’t abundantly clear before, let me amend. I am thoroughly disappointed, my funky little sea fungus."

"I thought I told you not to call me that." She looks up from her textbook amd glares, her skin rippling as her control wavers. "And you and I both know that if you really wanted to get into trouble, you would so quit bitching and leave me the fuck alone. Not my fault you’re not motivated."

Jason just sighs, turning over onto his back and splashing his tail behind him. "I’m not the loser spending her Friday night talking to a fish cause shes too scared to take a walk across the pond."

"I’m studying", shes quick to point out, ignoring the way the hairs on the back of her head stand on end. "And I ain’t scared."

"Uh huh. That why you always take the long way home to avoid walking past her cottage?"

Uma tugs a pencil free of her bun of braids and smiles viciously into her notes. "I met Ariel’s twins the other day. They said they'd love to try some of my recipes."

“Try it, tiny.” He narrows his eyes and flaps his fins. “Those bitches’ll be dead before they even get in a bite. And then I’m coming for your ass.”

“Oh my”, Uma drawls, scribbling a new note about vectors into the margins of her textbook. “I’m quivering in me boots.”

The next few minutes pass quietly, allowing her the time to actually focus on her work and finish a few word problems. Math, she was surprised to discover, actually comes easy to her. She took a few classes back on the Isle before she dropped out after Mal’s gang took over the area that housed the one school that actually gave a shit. The teacher, a lady with one eye and three missing teeth, had been nice and actually made Uma care about school in a way she’d never known. Then the takeover came, and that was the end of that.

Sitting here, though, sprinting through problems like she’s on another one of her shrimp ones, Uma thinks of that lady and smiles. She hopes she lasted long enough to see the barrier falling. She seems like she’d fit in well here. 

_ Not like me. _

Slowly, gradually, the smile slips away. 

It’s hard, sometimes. Most times, actually. Mal and the others, they want so hard for the only differences between the Isle and Auradon to be the barrier, but it’s more than that. It’s so much more than that, and it hurts to admit it because she, and everyone else, came here on the ideal that that was a  _ lie _ , that they could all live together, in harmony, if they just tried.

It’s been six months. And Uma’s trying, she is really trying. But she’s spent her whole life on the Isle, a place Beast and Beauty made damn certain to make as uninhabitable as possible. And it’s like, yes, their parents have killed and maimed and conquered, but pick up a storybook, comb through a fairytale, and you’ll find so have many of the heroes’ parents, so have some of their children. Those of Auradon, they can lay siege on the surrounding kingdoms and get no more than five years in the Royal Prison, out in three, maybe two, for “good behavior”.

Those of the Isle, they can do the same and never, ever, ever, not even once, be considered for redemption.

And their children. Well, they’re treated as if they’re responsible not only for their parent’s crimes, but the whole of the Isle’s as well, not to mention whatever future crimes any Villain may commit.

With Mal in charge, Uma hopes that’ll change. But it’s like her mom always said:  _ “We don’t forgive, and we certainly don’t forget, darling.”  _

For the longest time, Uma carried the same sentiment. Cross her once and it was enemies for life, the promise broken only by death or defeat. But things are different now. She’s different. Uma’s...forgiven. It’s the latter, she’s not too keen on. She doesn’t want that. She wants to remember it all, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

She’d be lying if she said she didn't imagine it sometimes, though . Living here full-time, as opposed to just now whilst they're renovating. And in the safety of the night, she can even admit the growing fear of hers; the one that once the renovations over, things’ll go back to the way they used to be, with zero hope of change.

With that in mind, it’s almost hard not to miss the Isle. Because as awful as it was, it was, at the minimum, consistent. Back home, it was all bad, with the only change being from bad to worse. And sure, it’s not much to look back on fondly, but even then, it wasn’t  _ all  _ bad. She had the Shack, her polluted waters, her crew.

And now that she’s thinking of them, man, does she miss her crew. They, like most other VKs, scampered off in taste of opportunity and fresh foods. They still talk and meet every Tuesday at the Malt Shop that’s become something of a replacement for both the Shack and Mal’s Market. It's not the same, though. The way they look at her. On the Isle, she was captain, a gang leader so fierce even the adults had begun to recognize her influence.

Here. Here she has a lagoon full of fish that aren’t even poisonous; they just sing and cry and whisper weird, intrusive thoughts to her.

It’s almost funny. She’s wanted so long to be free of the Isle. And she’s happy for it all, for everyone, and would never ever trade it for anything but

She misses it. Sitting here in her silly, little cottage with her silly, little wardrobe full of dresses, she feels so horribly out of place. And if that weren't bad enough, the rather obvious sentiments of her neighbors aren't much better.

Even when she tries to fit in, she feels like a stranger to herself.

Like Harry, who after one too many complaints about wielding a weapon in public quietly and yet also loudly removed his hook. He doesn’t talk about it, but Uma knows how he feels. It’s the same for her when her Assimilation Counselors "urge" her to ditch the pirate clothes and start looking for civilian attire.

Uma closes her textbook, tucks it away, and rises to her feet to walk over to the windows. She draws back the curtains and, for just a moment, thinks of swimming across the pond and asking Evie out to lunch or something. It’s been six months, and they haven’t done anything more than exchange nods and talk about the weather in their brief passings.

It used to be different. Back on the Isle, there was never a shortage of things for them to talk about.

Back on the Isle, Uma could talk to her until the stars shifted.

“Not gonna lie”, Jason says from the stream of water he’s levitated. “I’m glad.” Uma raises an eyebrow, and he just smiles. It’s a hideous sight, but it warms Uma no less. “I always thought you could do better than Mal. What’s she got going for her? That god-awful purple hair?” He rolls his eyes. “You know she dyed that shit, right?”   
“Yes, Jason.” Uma draws the curtains back closed and sighs, a faint smile playing at her lips as she hops onto the desk sitting beneath the window. “Literally everyone knows she dyed it.”

“Evie, though.” He smiles and hums to himself. “That’s all natural. And you know what else?”   
“What?”   
“Blue and blue. God, if that ain’t a classic case of the one that got away-”

“Oh my God, would you please shut the fuck up?” She rolls her eyes and pushes herself off the desk, pressing her palms to her cheek as warmth blossoms beneath them. “And it’s not like I had much choice in the matter.”

Jason continues on, and Uma allows herself to marinate in it, to think back to when the rumors first started. It was after her very brief but, admittedly, rather intense alliance with the Market Kids. From the start, Uma had had something of an infatuation for Evie, be it because of her navy blue hair or her just barely hidden sweetness, something about her had grabbed her and refused to let go. Even when they weren’t negotiating or reporting in to one another, Uma would stop by. At first, she and Evie didn’t really speak, mostly because Uma was too nervous to be around her, so she usually just gave an excuse about needing to see Mal, and, well, people began to put together Uma’s newfound anxiety with their closeness, and, thus, the rumor was born. 

Afterwards, Evie confronted her, and Uma was quick to put her worries to rest, and, for a short while, they were close. Close enough to take walks along the peer, to have picnics behind the jagged rocks of Dead Anchor Beach, to sneak frenzied, hungered kisses during trade exchanges. It scared Uma, just how quickly, how intensely, they grew to care for each other, but she never gave it much thought because, with their lives, nothing was too quick, nothing intense enough. After having too much things stolen from her too soon, she would never take Evie for granted. And she knew the same went for Evie.

Most people think it was Mal who broke Uma’s heart when the truth of the matter is she never really gave a shit about Mal. Not until she took Evie, swept her off her feet with promises of deceit and theft and power and, of course, never came through because she's Mal, and she’s full of more shit than the toilets on Shrimp Sunday; just fell ass over tea kettle for Ben and casted Evie aside like last week's special.

And even though Mal and Evie never so much as held hands, Uma knows it was more than a friendship to her. And Uma would take delight in that cause now she knows how it feels to be discarded without so much of a glance, but Evie is just so  _ nice _ that she can’t find really hold it against her.

_ (“You’re nice, too, Uma. You just won’t admit it.”) _

A bit too nice, Uma came to realize. She thinks it’s partially why she fell so hard, so fast, for her and Mal. Her heart’s too big, her body too small to effectively keep it contained, and so she loves practically everyone she lays her eyes upon. 

For a while, there was someone else; Doug, a nice boy with shifty eyes and a soft voice. He hadn’t lasted, but it must’ve ended bad because in the weeks that followed, Evie left her cottage even less than Uma. 

That was three months ago, and Evie seems better now. Different, too. More grounded, like gravity’s finally grabbed hold of her and sobered her up some. Uma doesn’t quite know what to think of that, but she doesn’t hold it against her. They’ve all changed.

“You need to get out more”, Jason says as she crashes back onto the couch. “Your head’s always in the clouds.”   
Uma closes her eyes and pretends she doesn’t hear him.

. . .

Of her entire crew, Harry’s the only one who isn’t busy chasing a lifestyle.

Which says a lot because she’s known him since they were in diapers and in that time, he’s always been chasing some lifestyle or another. Now they’re in Auradon, and it’s like all the energy’s been sapped right out of him.

It’s funny. Uma feels the exact opposite. Like she’s one of those boats that’s been shoved into a bottle, with nowhere near enough room to stretch, move, or even lie down.

She doesn’t say this, but she doesn’t need to. Harry knows her about as well as she knows him, and she knows him better than anyone.

They’re spread out on a hammock, sitting opposite each other as they stare up through the canopy of trees to the stars adorning the sky. It’s become a sort of routine, meeting up every other day at the other’s house to just watch the stars. 

They’re different here. Fainter, she thinks, because of all the lights and magic and whatnot. It makes her ache for home, and, before she can stop herself, she’s saying, “Ours were better”.

Harry huffs; he drops one leg over the edge of the hammock and gives them a gentle push. “Yeah, no shit”.

Uma blinks sleepily. She drops an arm over her stomach and smiles, straining to read the stars underneath a different sky. “My mom used to say there was a woman in the stars looking over us.” Harry averts his eyes to look at her, but her eyes are still skyward. After a moment, he returns his gaze to the heavens, and Uma continues. “She used to say that, shitty as things were, there was no way the Isle survived without some kind of higher power.”

She’s never really been a believer in her mother. Her mother stole from her, lied to her, threw her out on the streets at the age of eight and told her not to come back until she’d found a source of income. Uma trusts her about as much as she trusts Auradon, and she hasn’t believed in her since she was five years old when she traded her seaglass collection in for the Shack.

But she believes this. Because when her mother spoke of the Star Woman, her voice would get all misty and otherworldly, hopeful, even. It was the voice all those of the Isle shared, when dreaming of some other time, some other life. It was the voice Uma herself once used when speaking to Evie, when they shared their hopes and dreams and all the other nasty, little things they wouldn’t dare allow to see the light of day.

“You really think someone’s looking out for us”, Harry whispers as a stray gust of wind washes over them.

Uma tilts her face to the sky, blinking her eyelashes against the wind and inhaling sharply. “I sure hope so.” She stares at a constellation Evie once deemed Squirrel Riding a Bicycle and sighs. “Cause I sure could use some starpower right about now.”

She won’t tell him what she’s feeling, just like he won’t tell her, but they’ve never needed words to hear what the other is saying. And she’s never been more grateful for that fact because she has so much she wants to say and hasn’t a fucking clue as to how to put it to words.

Harry’s hands intertwines with hers; she doesn’t pull away.

Her grip is tight, almost desperate. And with just one hold, Uma knows he’s having as much trouble adjusting as she is. She tries to picture him talking to someone like Aurdrey or Chad. She tries to picture him going back to his house with a walkway, rosey bushes, and cheerful, talking trees. She tries to picture him without his hat, without his vest, without his  _ hook _ . It sends a shiver down her spine. She sits up, and Harry does the same; they position their backs to each other, staring at the greenery stretching out on either side of them. 

Uma hated the Isle and spent her whole life aching for Auradon. Now she hates Auradon and aches for the Isle.

Maybe the problem isn’t the setting.

Maybe it’s her.

“There’s a pirate-themed restaurant in the square”, Harry murmurs, and Uma hates the fact that it only takes a second for her to decide to put in an application.

_ Happily ever after _ , she thinks, the words far more bitter than they ought to be.  _ What’s so happy about it? _

Harry rises from his side of the hammock and walks over to her. He squats, swipes off his hat, and holds it close to his chest. Uma takes off her own and gives the barest smile she can deliver.

“Mal and them did it”, he says quietly. When he looks up, there’s a spark in his eye, one which she hasn’t seen in months. Her smile brightens. “We can, too.”

Uma leans over and kisses his cheek. She presses a hand there, lingers for but a second, then rises and starts her walk to the pond that bleeds into her lagoon. She’s ankle-deep when Harry suddenly calls out, “Uma”. She turns around, and Harry’s wearing his hat again. He grins, takes a bow, and kisses at her. “You’re still my captain.”

Uma giggles. “Boy, bye.”

Harry salutes her. “Cap'n.”

Uma smiles fondly. “Matie.”

Then she turns, takes a few more steps out, and sinks.

. . .

She starts to think of Evie.

Correction. She starts to allow herself to think of Evie. Because in the six months that she's been here, all Uma's done is study, cook, and think of Evie.

It's why she's gone so out of her way to avoid her. Even back when, she was a mess, always stuttering, tripping over her feet, just making a fool of herself in general. Now that she's back pining, that last thing she wants is to expose either of them to that mess again.

She's done well, if she says so herself, because another month passes, and the only exchange they have is awkwardly waving at one another through their windows.

Jason has a lot to say about that, about how no one else is gonna wanna settle down with her weird, tentacled-ass and that she should just make the swim over and start asking about the weather or something. And maybe it's because she wants to shut him up, or maybe it's because she's grown to resent the empty, cold side of her bed, but Uma actually does that.

Swimming excluded, anyway. Every time she so much as dips a toe into that pond, she feels like bursting out into song, so she walks around it and makes the walk up to Evie's cottage. 

She's got a container of steaming catfish in one hand and a bottle of Wisemen's Juice in the other. Evie's favorites, she can't help thinking as she knocks anxiously against the water-colored door before her. 

Or at least, they used to be. There hadn't been much variety on the Isle. In all likelihood, she probably has better tastes by now. 

_ Confidence, Uma. _ It's her mother's voice, telling her to stand tall and proud, shoulders squared, toes pointed, eyes half-lidded. But no, that was back on the Isle, when she was telling her how to prevent an ass-kicking and getting their weekly rations stolen. This is...this is different...this is good.

"I'm coming!", Evie's voice trills from inside, and, if Uma's heart wasn't frantic before, it certainly is now. The curtains in the window beside her shuffle, followed by an airy, "Oh!", and then there's a clatter, some cursing, a whoosh, and the door's flinging over, slamming against the wall with absolutely zero grace. "Uma!", Evie says, louder than necessary. She brushes her hair (blue, navy blue, like the sky at dawn) out of her face and lets out a breathy laugh. "I, uh, wasn't expecting you."

"Yeah, well, uh, neither was I."

_ That didn't make any sense. _

"Uh." Uma shifts the container to her palms and points it at her. "I brought you catfish. They're not alive. And." She jerks her head to the cans of Wisemen floating beside her. "Wisemen."

"Caffeine and fish", Evie nods. "Sounds great." She scratches against the side of her nose and, shyly, asks, "You wanna come in?"

"Can I?" She just barely withholds a smile as Evie steps aside and allows her in.

And wow.

It's the same design as her cottage, but this one actually looks lived in. Comfy. There are clothes thrown over furniture, pop cans discarded on surfaces, and, ironically enough, a black cat sleeping in the lounge chair.

"Sorry for the mess", Evie says, cleaning the room with a few wiggles of her arms. "I've been kinda busy lately."

"I heard", Uma chuckles. "Miss Up and Coming Designer of the Year."

Evie freezes as she’s scooping the cat in her arms and looks up at her. She stands up, tucks the cat under her arm, and stares, a faint blush skittering across her cheeks. "You pay attention to that stuff?"

"Not usually." Silence stretches between them, neither of them meeting the other's eye, until Uma clears her throat and jerks a thumb to the kitchen. "I'm just gonna go heat this up."

Neither comments on the fact that there's literal steam pouring out from the sides of the container.

Half an hour passes because they both keep finding excuses to not sit down and talk to each other. Uma's just about decided to flee when Evie suddenly grabs hold of her forearm. She lets her eyes linger there, on the perfectly polished nails, the soft, buzzing fingers, until she looks up. Evie closes her mouth and swallows, then lets go, taking three steps back before sitting down on the couch.

Uma does the same.

The cat watches them both, suspiciously. It's yet to say anything, and Uma hopes Evie realizes just how lucky she is.

"So how's life", Evie starts, forking a piece of catfish into her mouth.

"Oh, you know. It's life." She shrugs and smiles smally. "Got a nice setup by a lagoon. Mom visits." Evie sits the container between them and passes Uma a fork. Uma ducks her head and smiles harder. "It's nice."

"Nice, like clean water?", Evie prods with a knowing look.

"Nice, like free clinics", Uma snorts. She pulls off a piece of catfish and dips it in hot sauce. "You know I'm diabetic?"

Evie eyes her can of pop and smirks. “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

Uma rolls her eyes. She feels her shoulders loosen, and, when she looks up at Evie, she doesn't feel quite as awkward. "What about you? You living the good life?"

"Well, as an Up and Coming Fashion Designer, I would say so." Her cat rises to its feet and hops onto the couch, snuggling up in Evie's lap like it's home.

Uma knows the feeling. 

"It's different than what I thought it'd be", Evie says quietly, rubbing a hand up and down the cat's back. Uma cocks her head to the side, and Evie just smiles. "Let's just say the Assimilation Program is doing wonders for me."

Uma brushes a thumb along her lip and licks at the sauce that's gathered there. "I wouldn't've thought you needed it. You always seemed to...adapt, you know?" She shakes her head, thinking of simpler, less complicated times, like a raid on a storage warehouse gone wrong or the emergence of a new gang. "Like you could take anything life threw at you."

"Yeah, when it's rocks and candy mines being thrown at me. Here it's...well...can't exactly throw 'em back, you know what I mean."

"Yeah." Uma shifts so that her head rests against the back of the couch and just stares at her. "Yeah, I know."

It’s easy when the threat is immediate, tangible. When the threat is everywhere, everything, there’s not much you can do about it.

“I’m sorry I left”, Evie says suddenly. Uma goes stiff, averting her eyes to stare out the window stretching behind them. Evie doesn’t let it deter her. “I should have told you.”

Uma’s quiet. She brushes her braids over her shoulder and glares. When she speaks, her voice is rougher than it’s ever been with Evie. “Yeah, you should’ve.” She can see Evie wince out of the corner of her eye, and, okay, she feels bad for that. But this is the first time they’re talking about this. She figures she might as well let it all out.

Evie hurt her. More than Uma thought anyone ever could. Because it wasn’t like she died or she got killed or something that Uma expected. She left. Evie left, of her own volition; left the Isle, left the Pact, left Uma. And in her head, Uma knows that it wasn’t against her personally, but out of some need to do something bad (and, later, something good), but it still feels that way. It still hurts that way.

“I get it, though”, she admits, and Evie looks up at her like she’s afraid she’s broken Uma. Uma ignores it and continues. “If I was friends with me, I wouldn't’ve looked back either.”

Evie just watches her, sadly. “Uma. That’s not what I meant.”

Uma shrugs. Does it even matter, at this point? It’s all already happened, and it’s not like they can go back and change it. And even if they could, what would that really change? Sooner or later, something would have happened, something to draw them apart.

All things considered, maybe this is the best outcome for them. Regardless of the trust that’s been broken between them, at least they’re together again. At least they’re safe.

“I worried.” She pops open her can of Wisemen and takes a sip. “When you left.” She runs her fingers up and down the length of the can, feeling drops of condensation drip and slide down her fingers. She doesn’t wipe them away. “It was a few weeks, you know? We knew y’all had gone and crossed the Border, but it was a while ‘til we heard that you guys had settled in, that you were okay.” She doesn’t say much more, but she doesn’t need to. Before she left, they used to talk about it all the time. What the Too Goods would do if they ever decided they wanted to wipe the Isle off the map, how they would do it; something discreet, they’d decided, like convincing the Villains they’d been pardoned and that they could relocate to Auradon. 

“I should have told you”, Evie says once more. She reaches out and grabs Uma’s hand. Uma doesn’t pull away. “I just...it was…” She breathes and shakes her head. “So much was happening at once, so much was  _ changing _ . I didn’t think-”   
“I get it”, Uma cuts her off, curt and sharp. Then she sighs, sloops forward, and wipes her free hand over her face. “Look. Can we just not talk about it?” With that, she rises to her feet and starts towards the door.

She pulls the door open and finds an invisible force slamming it shut, followed by the soft sound of Evie’s feet walking across the carpeted floor.

“I think we have to”, Evie says, stopping just a few feet behind her. “It’s not that I didn’t care about you.”   
“Right.” Uma turns around, crosses her arms over her chest, and nods, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. “You just cared about Mal more.”   
Evie brushes a hand through her hair and inhales. “You know-”   
“No, I actually don’t know. You never got around to telling me, remember?”   
It’s bitter. It’s bitter, it’s cheap, and it’s a low blow, and Uma’s trying so hard not to be, but it’s hard. It’s hard because Evie chose, and she didn’t choose Uma. Mal, Auradon, Doug. She feels so much like she’s somebody’s last choice, and she hates it. Even moreso, she hates that it bothers her so much.

She could hate Evie if Evie were hateable.

“I’m sorry”, Evie says. She crosses the space between them and wraps her arms around Uma. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I hate it here”, Uma whispers into the crook of her shoulder. “I hate the way everyone looks at me, I hate the water, I hate the stars. I hate everything.”   
“I know.”   
It makes her think back to the Isle, to a night when they cursed the rotten fish and the stale air and the wicked gangs. Everything’s changed, and, yet somehow, it’s all still the same. A full three-sixty degrees and she’s right back on her bullshit.

“We could go back”, Evie says, presses closer, closer than she’s been in years, and, God, there are tears presses against the backs of her eyes. “We could go back and be who we used to be.”

Uma shakes her head. She lifts her hands and wraps them around Evie’s forearms, rubbing up and down until the tremors fade. “We’re never gonna be who we used to be”, Uma mutters. It’s a tough truth. For so long, all she’s wanted was for things to go back to the way they used to be. And now that she has the chance to do just that, she realizes that things are too different now. They’re too different now. Too much has happened, changed. She still wants Evie, wants her like she wants the sun to come up, like she wants the waters of the Isle to call out for her from beyond the bridge. But it’s different.

It’s broken. Charred. Twisted. Damaged so thoroughly she barely recognizes who they are anymore.

But that doesn’t mean she isn’t willing to try.

“We’re gonna stay right here”, Uma says, pulling back just to get a good look at Evie. She’s taller now. She has a new scar, right under her chin, and she has a chipped tooth. But her eyes are as soft as they’ve ever been. And when Uma presses her palm underneath her chin, she leans into her touch, same as she always has. And okay. Okay, maybe. Maybe if it’s like this, maybe they can do this. “And we’re gonna make something new.”   
Evie smiles. She leans closer and presses their foreheads together. “Something wicked”, she prods with a cheeky grin.

Uma gives her a small smile. “Something sweet”, she adds and takes hold of Evie’s hand to tangle their fingers together.

_ Maybe a little bit of both _ , Uma thinks and yeah.

Maybe they could do this.

. . .

“Jason said he saw you and Evie kissing under the mistletoe.”   
Uma twirls her fingers and levitates the bowl of popcorn towards Harry, who’s snuggled up in her sofa. She crawls beside him, drops her head on his shoulders, and closes her eyes. “Suck a hook, Harry.”   
Harry grins and points his hook at her. “Oh, I intend to.” He bumps their shoulders together and tosses a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “So you guys are talking again.” His eyes gleam brighter than the sun, and he asks, “What’s that like?”

Uma turns her eyes to the window, to the one that looks out past the pond to Evie’s house. She can’t see her in the window, but she can feel her, right under her breast, where her magic’s curled into a spiral of something soft and tender. She smiles, turns on the TV, and leans further into Harry. “It’s nice.”


End file.
